


Divisions

by crimsonepitaph



Series: Rockstars Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Drug Use, M/M, References to Depression, Rock Stars, Some stuff that hints at suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 14:01:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17788736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonepitaph/pseuds/crimsonepitaph
Summary: Jared's headspace when Jensen joins the band.





	Divisions

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's note #1:** This takes place before "Edges".  
>  **Author's note #2:** Thanks to borgmama1of5 for the quick look. _Electric_ , indeed :D

It's one thing to do it when you don't know; when feelings are at the forefront and thought is superficial, haze of drunken nights and ignorance of any tomorrows. But when you know what you are doing, when you know that it does more harm--

Pushed up against the wall, a nobody, a nameless stranger that has no worth, that does not exist beside this moment, the feeling of calloused hands at the edge between the belt buckle and the thin henley. That's all this means. A patch of skin touched between frantic kisses. That turns into a control center for body temperature...hot, cold, chills that travel up Jared's spine, flashes of heat that renege on any layer of clothing.

But this isn't done naked. In the back alley of the many after-concert bars, with a guy impossibly taller, wider, stronger than him, long black hair and eyes that shine in the dim light and then burn. Embers, wild and hot, hanging over an abyss.

It's done with Jared's jeans down to his thighs, rough, raw, painful and without warning.

It's on Jared to understand. It's what he asked.

The guy breathes in his ear while he presses Jared against the wall, a rhythm that's of no palatable music, it's just instinct, animal, desire torn to shreds, meeting its very edges. And Jared falls. Like he does on stage, like he does in any feeling, even, __especially__  pain. He disconnects.

Reality flows around him.

Absurdly soft, absurdly saddening, and just absurd.

He likes being outside himself. It gives him the impression that nothing he feels can be turned against him.

It used to be...different. Enjoyable. Who Jared was, wanted to be, truly.

__Rebellious, himself, nothing and everything, free._ _

It turned into the high of another hit of his favorite drug that hardly maintained the illusion.

But now, he knows.

Now, he's understood.

The underneath. The yearning. The fear. The wrong, the harm, the self-destructive path.

But he can't really stop.

Inertia.

Change would be harrowing, abrupt, too close to everything he's avoided until now.

It would start with Jensen's touch.

It's mechanical, an empty identity like a mask, a habit that Jared hangs on to just for the familiarity.

 

~

 

“You're a fucking cliché,” Chad announces him.

Recording studio. Jared on a sofa, Chad in the electric blue leather chair, playing with the buttons on the panel in preparation for today's session.

“What?” Jared asks, voice equal parts soft and raw, stretched out on the pale yellow leather, __drugged out__ , a world apart.

The chair rotates.

Chad arches an eyebrow. “The guy last night?”

 _ _Good question__.

“What's it to you?”

__An even better one._ _

Jared laughs.

He's captivated by the shape of his fingers, the washed out color of his jeans, the holes in the knees and the strings that hang off the margins.

“You got to clean up your act, man,” Chad huffs, voice too clear, too sober, annoying. Jared wants to scream, but the walls of his head absorb it, his insides inflate, they stay like that until the thought passes, until some thin thread hanging off his jeans become the center of his universe again. “With Jensen coming - “

“Jensen what?” Jared interrupts.

System shock. Short-circuit. A single command.

But he shouldn't let it out.

“I was just about to tell you.”

“Really?” Jared asks, turning towards Chad, surprised.

His friend sighs. “Really. Shut up.”

“I'm not saying anything,” Jared points out.

Chad searches for his gaze to hold, and Jared obliges. Though, if his friend would know that Jared doesn't see blue orbs, but the ocean, the movement of it, Chad, who never shuts up, never sits still...

“Dude, Jensen joined for you. That's what Danneel said, and hell, we all know it, can see it from a mile.”

Yeah.

So they say.

Master guitarist joins failing band.

__Why?_ _

Something. Something when he listened, when he watched.

“He's crazy,” Jared concludes, shrugging.

Chad blinks.

Then agrees.

“Dude – point is, we have a chance. A real one. With him on the guitar, his mind for the arrangements, and you...” He trails off. “We'd be good, if you'd put in any effort. Like, at all.”

Right.

“I don't need - “ Jared starts, eternities passing in his mind before finding coherence, the right words again. “I don't need to put in effort.”

Chad is about to protest.

“No,” Jared jumps up from the sofa, tilting his precarious view 90 degrees, sitting more dangerous than it seemed last time. “No, if I put in effort, it – it doesn't work, Chad. There's no – I don't __feel__ … anything.”

His mind is fluid, thoughts are slipping his grasp.

“The only way it works is – I don't know, I tried, I honestly tried, Chad, dude – I let go, and everything fucking comes to the surface, from __inside__ ,” he continues, pointing with both hands towards his ribcage, trying to convey to Chad things that he couldn't voice even if he was sober and all squared up, but he tries, the songs, this minute, this momentary point in time that won't come back. “You can't – piece of the fucking cosmic puzzle, man, and I'm me, and you're you, and we're separate, but it isn't us that really exist, it's all, everything created between us, everything we feel, everything we see...it comes out in...in memories, feelings, scents, images, you, us, Jensen and me, the cold rain when you just got off a goddamn plane, that fucking childhood picture that you're sure you remember living, the realization that we're all going to die, man, like – not exist, __poof__ , gone, and, shit, I don't know – __life__ ,fucking love, and meaning, and - “

“Jesus Christ.”

Jared raises his head. “Huh?”

“You should keep that cheap philosophical stuff bottled up.”

Jared leans back to meet the soft edge of the sofa. He pats the right pocket of his jeans, looking for the cigars.

Not there.

Chad watches.

Was his last reply in Jared's head or did he hear it spoken in the __outside__? Jared feels out of his own body. He feels like only a thought, floating, watching a piss-poor excuse for a human body trying to fight the insignificant realities each moment puts up front.

“...lyrics. Make it a song.”

Jared smiles – both of them, the body, the mind, lips stretching at his command, and of their own accord, all at the same time.

“I'm a fucking genius.”

Chad looks at him for a long time.

“Yeah. Which is why this is so fucking sad.”

 

~

 

Nothing is sad. Moments...moments are shows. The other, the reality, is masks, shells, empty air between them, each isolated in a cocoon of his own thoughts.

Jared hears voices, in between sleep, in between dreams, __Jensen,__ real and not.

“...I knew that.”

“You fucking serious?”

Kane.

Jared never could understand the guy.

“You knew he was like that, and you willingly - “

Clean, sober, three kids, family man.

“...he's why you ever had any success at all.”

“Yeah, thanks,” deadpan. Osric. Young. Drums. __Fuck yeah. Rockstars.__ Dumb in the way only few years in the account can make you, the promise of a dream life.

“Not saying you're not all good – but that something more...”

Pause.

And Jared dreams, dreams that Jensen talks about him, says -

“...Jared has it. Give him space, give __it__ time.”

__Time._ _

Don't they realize, it's coming to an end anyway? All. Each. Every day. Every minute. Everything he does. And nothing, nothing ever stays.

“...him space...years...fuck that,” Kane, vibration against Jared's skull.

A door slamming.

“You know what you're doing?”

Tom...

__Tom._ _

More. The way a message from him made Jared feel. The kisses in the dark, the ones in unbearable light. His eyes. 

Green, electric blue, sound, white noise -

Wooden walls.

A microphone.

Whispers.

“...yeah.”

The nights that felt heavier with him in bed, longer, shorter, happier, more frightening…

Jared's shouting from the rooftops.

But a glass wall stops the sound.

Jared looks out to the world, to a descent, to the last fall.

“...can't fix him. You shouldn't try.”

For an unknown reason, Jensen laughs, loud and harsh.

 

~

 

The wake-up is a headache, hunger, thoughts clearing. His back. He'd fallen asleep sitting, staring at the recording room.

Jensen has taken Chad's place in the chair.

A jean-clad leg comes over the knee of the other one, hands are clasped, elbows on the armrest, his gaze -

“Hey.”

Grinning, rough voice, soothing, warmth.

“You ready?”

__No. Yes._ _

The possibilities are endless, given that Jared doesn't make the same choice every time.

 


End file.
